


Anabasis

by Purna



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, First Time, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-04-14
Updated: 2002-04-14
Packaged: 2018-11-11 00:22:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11137554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purna/pseuds/Purna
Summary: Sex, snow, and wolf dreams.





	Anabasis

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

  
Anabasis

## Anabasis

by Purna

Disclaimer: No money made. I don't own these guys.

Author's Notes: A big thank you kindly to AuKestrel, who was kind enough to beta this story.

Story Notes: 

* * *

Okay, this is it, Benton Fraser thought despairingly, panting with exertion and pain as he finally managed to bundle his partner into their meager shelter and into a sleeping bag. This is how it ends then, not with a bang but with a whimper. He gritted his teeth then and exhaled sharply through his nose, stiffening his spine. No, he told himself sternly, I am a Mountie, and I do not accept defeat. 

But the situation seemed dire. A half-stifled gasp from the form beside him drew his attention. 

"Ray?" He cursed the tremor that shook his voice, then cursed the tearing pain in his own shoulder and side that induced an unacceptable sense of helplessness. "Ray, can you hear me?" 

An indecipherable moan was his only answer. "Ray." Again, damn that betraying quaver in his voice. He bit his lip, but the words slipped his control. 

"You can't leave me now, Ray. We only just found each other." God, this was not happening. 

Their expedition was originally supposed to be merely an adventure. Ray's adventure, ostensibly to find the hand of Franklin. Then one day, as they'd unharnessed one of the sled dogs, their heads had come close together. Calmly, and with an odd sense of inevitability about the whole matter, Fraser had brushed his mouth against Ray's. After that the expedition had turned into something different. Complete privacy was certainly one definite plus of their isolated surroundings. 

Gotta make up for all that lost time, Ray had said with a filthy-sounding chuckle. The sound had gone straight to Fraser's groin and he had pounced on his partner with a predatory intensity. That night Fraser had explored Ray's body fully for the first glorious time. The explosion of salty bitterness into his mouth had surprised him somewhat, but he had swallowed the evidence of Ray's orgasm with a certain smug satisfaction. 

Ray let out a strangled cough, blood staining his lips. Fraser touched a handkerchief to his partner's mouth, carefully wiping away that awful evidence of the internal injuries that he feared Ray had sustained. 

They'd jumped out of airplanes, for God's sake, had tobogganed down mountains together. Together they'd always seemed to have some sort of invulnerability, some triumph over mere mortality. He should have known that such an odd suspension of natural laws would have to end some time. They'd been walking within sight of their camp. One incautious moment, and they'd slipped on the treacherous footing, sliding uncontrollably down the steep slope onto jagged and unforgiving rocks. 

Fraser leaned over his partner and brushed Ray's unruly hair back from his forehead. Ray's face was ashen, coated with a sheen of sweat. Fraser took Ray's pulse. His own heart seemed to skip a beat as he realized how thready and rapid it was. Ray seemed worse, much worse now, going deeply into shock. Fraser doubted he'd last a single day on the sled, much less the week or more it would take to get back to some semblance of civilization. 

He turned at a low whine from behind him. Dief stood there, head cocked in concern, and whined. 

"Yes, Dief, I know he's dying, but there isn't really anything I can do about it, now is there?" He heard his voice climb uncontrollably at the end and swallowed convulsively. 

In answer, Dief moved further into the shelter, followed by one of the sled dogs. Fraser opened his mouth to send it outside again with a sharp command and froze. That was no sled dog. It was a wolf, a light gray bitch as large as Dief. Well, that certainly explained Dief's recent habit of disappearing at odd intervals for hours or days at a time. He'd always returned without ceremony and without a word as to what he'd been doing. 

Another ragged cough from Ray brought Fraser about quickly, and a sound very close to a sob escaped his lips. Blood stained Ray's lips again, and more trickled from his nose now. 

"No!" The raw cry was ripped from his throat. A growl from Dief distracted him. Dief stared at him fixedly, while the bitch gazed at Ray, her head cocked in fascination. 

"What?" he snapped. "What can you do for him?" 

Then he found himself pinned by her yellow gaze and froze. No sled dog--a wolf--but that label also seemed fundamentally lacking. He cocked his head and gazed at her warily. There was something else, a whiff of something raw, something elemental. His breath caught; she was beautiful and frightening at the same time. Obviously his long tenure in civilization had caused him to forget his grandmother's old admonition about appearances being deceiving. Power, he decided: it seemed to radiate from her like a beam of light. How could he have missed it? Power that could be used, if she offered, and one were desperate enough. He felt his stomach clench, a wave of nearly blinding fear nearly overwhelming the faint stirrings of hope that welled up in him. 

He shook his head. Cool logic was what they needed here; mysticism would only cloud the issue, he told himself firmly. A nagging voice deep inside him reminded him of some incredible things he had witnessed in his youth, magical things that seemed to have no logical explanation, things he had thought firmly put behind him. The fate of Uncle Tiberius reminded him what unleavened mysticism could do to a man. The temptation was alluring though, just this once to let his control slip. 

"Oh, no, we can't. It's not even possible." 

The bitch looked at him steadily, her yellow eyes calm. He backpedaled a bit. 

"He's not even conscious. We can't ask his permission. He has to agree to it." 

She gave a questioning, slightly imperious yip. He felt himself blush, and shook his head at the surreality of the situation. 

"Yes, I suppose I am his mate. But..." He trailed off and looked down at Ray's pale face for a long moment. Suddenly, his objections seemed frivolous, and the temptation too great. He steeled his resolve and lifted his chin. He looked over at the pair of wolves and nodded. 

"Yes," he said quietly to the bitch. "We'll do it." 

He looked at her yellow eyes and continued, whispering his confession: "But I'm afraid." 

She seemed unsurprised. 

* * *

*An incredible golden light engulfing his partner. His own hands, acting without his volition, baring Ray's throat to the wolf bitch. Blood and more blood, a frightening amount, it seemed. Ray convulsing helplessly, ear-shredding screams ripped from both their throats as he held his partner down with the sheer weight of his body. A chorus of wolf howls, his own cry the descant.* 

It was like some pain-induced hallucination, a dream, or a nightmare. 

He watched in disconnected fascination as the images played out and then seemed to slip away from him moment to moment. He realized that he'd never recall what they'd done this night with any sort of lucidity and was rather glad of it. That way lay madness, he suspected, and then gave in thankfully to a wave of darkness. 

He awoke the next morning and lay there for a moment, breathing deeply. 

"A singularly bizarre dream," he muttered and reached up to rub his eyes. The sharp stab in his shoulder froze him in place, and he shuddered as his aching muscles made themselves known. He awoke fully and sat up bolt upright in his sleeping bag, catching sight of the two... _two_?! ...wolves curled up in the corner. His breath caught in his throat. 

"God." The exclamation came out as a frozen croak. 

He frantically scrabbled at Ray's sleeping bag, baring his partner's face. Ray seemed to be sleeping peacefully, and his face had a healthy color once more. He fumbled to take Ray's pulse, and his partner stirred. 

"...the hell, Frase?" 

"Oh, thank God." His throat felt raw and sore, the words barely audible. His eyes burned and he felt tears gathering, his sinuses stinging with them. 

"Christ, Fraser, what's wrong? You look awful." The words were mumbled but heavy with concern. 

"I..." His words dried up. He dropped his mouth to Ray's in a heart-felt nonverbal response instead. He pulled back eventually, exhausted even beyond arousal. Ray's eyes were drooping anyway. He tucked his partner in to the sleeping bag more securely and sat back with a sigh. 

He looked over at the wolf bitch, who was tangled up with Dief in a furry huddle. She looked up with a questioning whine. 

"Thank you," he said humbly. "I...don't know how to thank you." He paused. "Do you have a name?" 

She stared unblinkingly at him, and he suddenly tasted copper, saw snow beneath moonlight as bright as a noon sun. He blinked and took a deep breath. 

"Oh, my. Rather like one of those hideously complex Mandarin ideographs. Might I call you Moon?" 

She huffed in derision, and the copper taste returned, and suddenly he recognized the smell, the heavy scent of fresh blood filling his nose. He felt his eyebrows climb in surprise. 

"Blood? I should call you Blood? Really?" He clamped down on his instinctively queasy reaction. His grandmother would accuse of him of being ethnocentric, he thought, and stifled a hysterical giggle. 

Dief looked up at that, and barked. 

"Yes, more sleep is certainly in order. And Dief..." His voice was unsteady again. "Thank you as well, my friend." 

Dief settled his head back onto Blood's flank contentedly and gave a soft "whuff." 

He lay back down, spooning himself next to Ray and let sleep overtake him. 

* * *

"So I was, like, dying?" Ray seemed incredulous. 

"You really don't remember any of this, Ray?" Perhaps there had been a head injury from the fall as well. 

"I told you, Fraser. Last thing I remember is us walking outta camp. And kissing." Ray looked at him from beneath his lashes as a faint flush washed his cheeks. 

That look would be the death of him. He felt his lips quirk up in a half-smile. He leaned forward and licked at the corner of Ray's mouth. Ray's mouth opened eagerly; their teeth clacked faintly as Fraser pulled Ray's head closer and dove in. They kissed lazily for long moments, then with growing hunger, their breaths quickening. Ray's long fingers wormed their way through the front of his thermals; Ray's hands brought a chill that gave him a start, but they warmed quickly. 

"I think he's happy to see me," Ray muttered, the words muffled against Fraser's mouth. Then Ray's tongue thrust into his in a ragged rhythm that sent more blood rushing to his groin. He licked the inside of Ray's mouth. He tasted the now familiar taste of Ray...and then froze as his thrusting tongue encountered a faint hint of blood. He flinched and almost pulled away. Ray let out a desperate moan. 

"Come on, come on, come on, Frase. Got a little lust for life going here, man." 

He looked down at Ray and breathed, waiting for his reaction to subside. Ray's hot mouth on his collarbone and neck soon had him squirming, unease forgotten. He pulled back and quickly unbuttoned his thermals, shivering a bit as chill air touched heated flesh. He dove under the unzipped bag with Ray, who was squirming about, tugging at his own thermals. Soon they were skin to skin, lined up groin to groin, thrusting against one another. 

"Oh, yeah," Ray sighed breathlessly. 

Fraser was pulling Ray yet closer with one hand on his hip, while the other roamed along Ray's back, brushing along the bumps of his spine. He was close, very close, his scalp tingling in anticipation, and he wanted to bring Ray along with him. During their first time together, Fraser's fingers, nervous and fumbling, had accidentally nudged a certain spot low on Ray's back. The results had been enlightening. He concentrated and his fingers drifted lower, seeking that spot again, probing the base of Ray's spine. Eureka. Ray's teeth clamped down in electric reaction, and Fraser barely pulled his mouth away in time to avoid having his tongue bitten. 

"Sorry," muttered Ray. Fraser merely shook his head gently and caught Ray's bottom lip lightly between his own teeth. He stroked that spot on Ray's spine firmly, counterpoint to their thrusts. Ray stiffened, his back arching uncontrollably, let out a low grunt, then came. He dove in and took Ray's mouth in an untidy clash of teeth and tongue. He let himself go then, following Ray over that delightful precipice. 

* * *

They'd fed the sled dogs and were settling back in the tent before Ray brought up the subject of his recovery again. 

Dief and Blood had wandered into the tent after them and were making themselves comfortable. Without seeming to think about it, Ray flopped near them, and rested his head on Blood's side. Dief whuffed at him companionably, then settled down again. 

"So, you were saying, Frase, before we, uh, got distracted. We fell off a cliff, right, and you got us back to the tent. But then I looked so bad you thought I was dying?" 

"You _were_ dying, Ray." He jerked his head at Blood. "She saved you. With a little help from Dief and me." 

"I'm just wondering if maybe, you know...you were hurt, and worried and freaked out. Maybe it wasn't as bad as you thought." 

Fraser looked up sharply from where he was spreading out the sleeping bags. 

"You think I'd make something like this up?" Incensed that Ray doubted his word, he heard the tight, dangerous sound of his voice and tried to calm himself. 

Ray closed his eyes with a muttered, "Shit." Then he looked up again with worried eyes. 

"I didn't say you made it up, Frase. But, c'mon, Blood...hey, she's cool and all, hurray for Dief, but I dunno about this 'transfer of energy' you keep going on about. Sounds a little queer to this Chicago Polack." 

"Blood." 

"Yeah, she's great and all, but this whole thing's starting to sound like one of your freaky raven steals fire stories." 

"You called her Blood, Ray. How do you know her name, tell me that?" 

Ray paused, his forehead wrinkling, the first trace of uncertainty he'd evinced. 

"You must've told me, Fraser. Hell, maybe Dief told me." 

"I never told you her name, Ray. And you're awfully cozy with her over there. You think you'd cuddle up to any old wolf?" 

Ray sat up quickly, eyes widening for a second. He eyed Blood with his head cocked, a curious expression on his face. For one brief moment, he looked scared and lost, then his normal bravado asserted itself. 

"Maybe I read one too many of those Barry Lopez books we stole off Turnbull, you ever think of that? 'Sides, you said there was blood all over me, right?" 

"I believe so. I told you, my own memory is a bit unclear. Reality and perception seemed to get very confused for a while." 

Ray waved at him impatiently. "Don't get all philosophical on me, Frase. Was there blood, or not, and if there was, where'd it go?" 

"I think..." He stopped, reluctant to relive one particularly disjointed memory from the collection rattling in his head from that night. 

He took a deep breath, then continued. "I think she licked it up. Some of it, anyway. But I also remember...tasting blood myself, Ray." He couldn't look at his partner; he stared down fixedly at a loose thread in the sleeping bag's stitching. 

The silence stretched out unbearably. He finally looked up, to see Ray sitting there, pale as a sheet, touching his throat with a trembling hand. 

He reached out hesitantly, more secure in the motion when Ray leaned into his touch, seeking comfort apparently. 

"Are you okay, Ray?" Quiet voice, and he almost laughed at the ludicrousness of his own question. How could one receive such news and be okay? 

"I," Ray whispered, then swallowed. He looked up at Fraser with wide, shadowed eyes. "It was a dream. I thought it was a dream." His voice was barely audible. "Yellow eyes and a voice saying something about a price. I knew if I didn't pay it, I'd have to leave you." 

Ray's mouth twisted and he looked a little sick for a moment. "Oh, God, what did I do? I didn't want to leave you, Fraser." 

"It's okay, Ray." He slowly put his arms around Ray, slowly so that he could pull away if he needed to. Ray leaned toward him instead, and Fraser pulled him close to his chest. 

"We're here, together, Ray. You're alive, and that is a gift worth any price, I'd say. We're okay. It's going to be fine." 

Ray nodded, but couldn't seem to meet his eyes. 

"Let's sleep, Ray. Things will be better in the morning." 

Ray nodded dumbly, and they both stripped down to thermals. Fraser felt numb and clumsy and wound his arms around Ray for comfort. 

All was silent after that, but sleep eluded Fraser for some time. He lay there, listening to Ray's breathing quiet with sleep, and stared into the darkness. For a short moment, he wished fiercely to talk to his father once more. His _dead_ father. A vivid memory from his childhood overtook him briefly: Nathan, a popular First Nations youth, an older boy he'd idolized, whose eccentric behavior had gradually become much more frightening. "Ghosts!" Nathan had screamed out in the middle of church once to everyone's mortification. Schizophrenia, the brisk diagnosis given by the hot shot doctor flown in from Yellowknife. Nathan had been institutionalized briefly, but had committed suicide within a few months. Fraser shivered. It had not been his first brush with suicide, but it had been revelatory in other ways. The episode had rocked him: it had seemed impossible that this self-assured, attractive youth, the focus of his adolescent longings, could also be capable of such depths of despair. 

He focused briefly on his partner's face, relaxed with sleep. His gaze skittered away uneasily as he vividly recalled how ashen and still Ray had looked. If Ray had died, the blame would have been his. However much Ray might talk of wanting adventure, he knew that, in the end, Ray had stayed for him. Ray had stayed for him, and Ray would have been dead. Dead like Nathan, dead like his training officer at Depot. Dead like his mother and father. Sometimes, in his darker moments, he was sure that death had become his companion, faithful to the end. He explored that thought with a wary determination, worrying at the idea as if it were a loose tooth that his tongue kept probing. 

After his mother's death, simple peace of mind had proved utterly elusive. His father, weighed with his own crushing grief, had proved utterly unequal to the task of dealing with his young son. Sleepless nights and dark depressions had marked his spirit. Gradually, under his grandmother's gentle, calming influence, he'd finally regained a passing semblance to mental equilibrium. He had often felt that the darkness had never left him completely; it had merely hidden itself, burrowed deep inside of him. It had arisen from its hiding place several times since, when events knocked him from the tightrope of logical order he had imposed upon himself for his own peace of mind. 

He gave himself a stern mental shake, feeling a shudder start from his gut, as he felt an old, old fear revive. His control, the delicate balance of his sanity, had long been a point of some concern for him, if hidden behind jokes and a calm demeanor. He had often wondered what it was like. He wondered if Uncle Tiberius or Nathan had known, had watched in ever increasing horror as their psyches had disintegrated, or if it had slipped up on them unawares. He hoped, for Ray's sake, that he was made of sterner stuff. 

* * *

"So, you think this town's gotta laundry? Sleeping bags could use some serious cleaning." Ray didn't look up from the shelf of king-sized chocolate bars he was perusing. Fraser smiled at this first evidence of a lighter mood from Ray, who had spent the two-week trip to this settlement in rather subdued spirits. 

"Probably, Ray. We can check." He looked down at the can of soup he was holding and sighed. 

"Do you think Dief was upset that I wouldn't let him come into town with us?" He asked the question warily, feeling out the extent of Ray's good humor. Ray had been avoiding Blood since that night, as much as their circumstances would allow, and perforce avoiding Dief as well. Ray's attitude twinged Fraser's sense of propriety, smacking of ingratitude, but considering the enormity of what Ray had been through, he hadn't pushed Ray about it. 

Ray seemed calm enough. "Nah, he seemed cool with it." His nose wrinkled in distaste. "C'mon, let's do this later. Kinda stinks in here, anyway. I wanna beer." 

Fraser hesitated, at a loss as to how to interpret his partner at the moment. "Shall we find you a bar, then?" he asked a bit reluctantly. 

Ray smiled at him. "Don't worry, Frase. I'm not planning on getting drunk. I just want a beer. C'mon, we can get something to eat that wasn't boiled over a camp stove." 

The prospect did appeal. "Quite right, Ray." 

The local taven served a decent cheeseburger, which Fraser tore into with gusto. 

Ray seemed less than impressed with the beer, however, and pushed it to one side with a muttered, "Tastes funny." He coughed and wrinkled his nose, waving a hand about his face. "Whew, forgot how awful the cigarette fug can get in a bar." A distasteful sniff followed. "Ugh, and this town has some serious BO going." 

Fraser slowly put his french fry down on his plate. The cigarette smell seemed very faint to him, and he smelled not a hint of body odor other than their own. Perhaps he was getting a cold. He sniffed tentatively. His sinuses seemed clear, so he gave an experimental cough. Slightly scratchy throat...yes, it must be a cold. 

Ray was eyeing him. "Okay, Frase?" 

"What? Oh, yes, fine," he said quickly, but continued to watch Ray thoughtfully. 

They were leaving the tavern when Ray suddenly staggered, knees crumbling. He bumped heavily into another patron, a large, rather pugnacious-looking man. The man let out a curse and whirled, but something caused him to back up, arms raised as if in surrender. Fraser had grasped Ray's elbow from behind and couldn't see what had caused the man to back down. 

"Ray, what's wrong?" he began, but at that moment, Ray *growled,* of all things, pulled his arm from Fraser's grasp and darted for the exit. 

"Ray! Ray, wait up." 

He plunged through the door in time to see Ray disappear around a corner. He blinked at the lead Ray had managed to gain, then pounded after him. He raced after Ray, and finally lost sight of him. He was reduced to tracking him through the streets to the edge of town, then realized that Ray was headed back to their camp. 

He was able to put on more speed until the familiar tent came into view. He raced ahead at full speed, then froze at the scene before him. Boxes of supplies, which they had left neatly stacked were haphazardly tossed about on the snow outside of their tent. 

Dief was lying stretched out, a frighteningly still white form. Blood, fangs bared, was circling a man whose high-pitched shouts seemed half defiant, half fearful. And Ray...dear Lord, Ray... his lips stretched back in a feral grimace, Ray was pummeling another man viciously. When Ray's bloodied knuckles crushed into the man's nose with a sickening crack, Fraser threw off his paralysis and threw himself at his partner. The man dropped heavily to the ground, out cold. 

"Ray, Ray, Ray!!" he shouted into his partner's ear, grabbing Ray from behind. Ray twisted and bucked with a surprising strength, breaking his hold with ridiculous ease. He pulled his fist back again, and seemed utterly focused on pummeling the man. Fraser tackled his partner with all his strength, pinning him to the ground. The lean body beneath his writhed, nearly throwing Fraser off again. "Ray!" he shouted again. "Look at me!" 

Ray turned his head finally. Fraser jerked in surprise. Ray's eyes were utterly wild, and for a splitsecond, he could have sworn they glinted yellow. He suppressed a sudden shudder and looked closer to see that they were their normal hazel. He shook his head and breathed out a sigh. Ray's eyes were focusing on him, the lines of his face relaxing from that awful grimace. 

"Ray, calm down. Your opponent is down, that's enough." 

Ray jerked then. "Blood. She's hurt." He pointed. The wolf bitch had collapsed onto the ground. The man she had cornered took advantage of the distraction to take to his heels. 

Ray paid no attention and pulled himself from Fraser's loosened grip. He scrambled to Blood's side and slid to his knees, gingerly reaching out to her bloody side. 

"They were protecting the camp, Fraser. Those shitheads were rifling through our supplies." 

Fraser paused, momentarily torn, then went first to Dief's side. The wolf's respiration and heart rate seemed normal, and his eyes fluttered open as Fraser watched. Fraser felt weak with relief when Dief clambered unsteadily to his feet and informed Fraser with lupine embarrassment that he was fine, little tap on the head, that was all. 

They both rounded on Blood's motionless body. Ray looked up, face drawn, from where he was applying pressure to Blood's flank. "Got the bleeding stopped, but I think the bullet's still in her. We gotta get her to a vet, Frase." Ray's voice was strained and he was gnawing worriedly at his lip. Dief let out a low whine and touched his muzzle to Blood's. 

"I'll carry her, Ray." A moan from behind them reminded Fraser of their captive. He gestured. "You and Dief follow with him. I think he can walk." 

Ray opened his mouth as if to argue, then desisted. He carefully checked Blood's wound before removing his hand, then stood back to give Fraser room. 

As Fraser lifted the injured wolf, Ray snarled, "C'mon, you drunk fart hammer. Get up. And don't even try anything, I got your friend's gun." Another pathetic moan was his only answer as the man slowly regained consciousness. 

Fraser swiveled his head around quickly to see that Ray was indeed wielding an ancient revolver. Ray nudged the man ungently with a boot. "Up. I'm not carrying your sorry ass." Fraser opened his mouth to comment on Ray's lack of a firearm license, then bit his tongue. He'd confiscate the weapon later, at a more opportune time. 

They made their slow, awkward progress back into town. Fraser was feeling the strain and was breathing rather heavily when they entered the storefront. 

"This the vet?" Ray asked shortly. 

"Actually, it's the town doctor. The nearest vet is rather far from here." 

They were interrupted by a woman ushering an older couple from a back room. "Two of those, every morning, remember that, Phyllis?" 

The couple exited the storefront with a curious, wary glance at them. 

Sharp, intelligent eyes swiveled to take in the pair of them, well, the five of them, if one counted wolves and miscreants. 

She eyed the bloody nose sported by their captive. "Another bar fight, Wilson? They'll fire you this time, you know." 

Then she came closer and took in the blood-soaked flank of the wolf in Fraser's arms. "What've we got here? Take her back there. No, to the left, on that table there." 

They all trooped into the room. Fraser gently laid Blood on the table. "She was shot, within the last hour. We got the bleeding stopped, but the bullet remains," he said. She nodded, then waved her hand. 

"Okay, okay, you guys go wait out there. I need room to work." 

Ray bristled. "No way, lady. I'm..." 

Fraser plucked the revolver from Ray's grasp and gently guided him by the elbow. "Let the doctor work, Ray. Besides, we need to contact the local constabulary to turn our friend Wilson here in." He motioned to their captive, whose snarl wilted after a good look at their faces. 

Ray paused, shooting him a frustrated glance that melted into concern when he looked towards Blood. 

"Dief stays here. He's her mate, for Christ's sake." He spoke with an utter finality, brooking no discussion. 

Fraser paused, shooting the doctor a pleading look. 

She glanced at him narrowly, then apparently decided to take pity upon them. 

"The wolf can stay. You guys, out." 

They found themselves standing in front of the doctor's office, Ray clutching Wilson's collar in a grip reminiscent of that Fraser's grandmother had employed on him on more than one occasion. 

Ray sighed and gave their captive a shake. "Okay, let's turn this punk in. Lay on, MacDuff," he said to Fraser. 

* * *

After they turned their captive in to the proper authorities (a semi-retired RCMP officer who, amazingly enough, had been at Depot with Fraser's father), Ray insisted they return immediately to the doctor's office and not help with the pick-up of Wilson's friend. Both Wilson and his accomplice were apparently well known troublemakers whose haunts were already known to the officer. 

"Go," he told them. "See to your dogs," he urged. "I've got it covered." 

Fraser opened his mouth to correct him, when Ray's warning glance stopped his tongue. They returned to the doctor's office to wait. 

The doctor's assistant had shown up and invited them to wait on the battered couch that furnished the waiting area. Fraser sat down with sigh, but Ray remained on his feet, frenetically shifting his weight from foot to foot. 

A long hour later, the doctor walked out to the waiting room with a tired smile on her face. Ray finally ceased his incessant pacing, much to Fraser's relief. The doctor greeted them with more courtesy than Fraser was expecting and showed them Blood, peacefully sleeping. Ray's air of barely restrained menace finally relaxed a bit when he ran a hand over her ribs, rising and falling in a comforting monotony. Dief declared that he was keeping an eye on her and seemed none the worse for his own brush with violence. 

Ray brushed Blood's flank one last time with a shaky hand and shot Dief an odd look. Fraser looked at Ray curiously, but his partner merely shrugged and gave him a lopsided smile. Fraser breathed a quiet sigh of relief; his partner seemed to have gotten over completely his previous discomfort regarding Blood. 

The doctor suggested that they return tomorrow to pick up Blood and Dief. Ray was reluctant to leave Blood until Fraser reminded him that the other dogs needed feeding and settling in for the night. 

When they had completed that task, Fraser suggested they take advantage of the small local boarding house. 

They dumped their equipment in the small room, and he dropped into the armchair with a sigh. He gazed fondly as Ray bounced first tentatively, then with energetic, childlike fervor on the single narrow bed provided. 

Ray smiled suddenly and patted the mattress with an approving hand. "Bed good," he said laconically and then sprawled across the entire surface of the bed with boneless grace, limbs spread carelessly. 

The sudden privacy made Fraser's skin tingle; he looked at Ray's opened thighs and felt a warm stirring in his groin. He ran the tip of his tongue over his chapped lips and felt his breath catch minutely. 

Ray lifted his head suddenly and looked over at him. He cocked his head to one side and paused, eyelids drooping and nostrils flaring. Fraser had a brief uncomfortable flash of recognition, quickly suppressed, of seeing Diefenbaker look exactly like that. He shook his head sharply. 

Ray was looking at him with an elegantly raised brow. "And where are you sleeping, Fraser buddy?" he asked archly. 

"Why, with you, of course." He felt a slow smile spread across his face. It was good to hear Ray tease again. 

"Bed's pretty narrow." 

"I think we'll...manage," he said silkily. 

Ray's eyes widened suddenly and he blurted, "Hey, you realize we haven't done it in a real bed yet?" 

Fraser felt his face was flush, and managed only a strangled sound in response. Before he could find his voice, Ray had scooped up his backpack. 

"Gonna shower. I'd invite you to come with, but we both need some serious cleaning. Can't have the distraction." He grinned at Fraser and darted for the door. 

A little over an hour later, they were both back in their room, fully clean for the first time since they'd started their adventure. 

Fraser sat on the narrow bed, tucking away his toiletry bag into his pack. Something made him lift his head. 

He felt all of his breath leave his lungs in a whoosh. Ray was leaning back against the closed door of their room, hands tucked into his back pockets. He was fully clad, wearing loose jeans and one of Fraser's sweaters, but somehow Fraser felt himself flush with sudden arousal. Ray's hair was clean and tousled, longer than he'd ever seen it. Several strands had fallen forward to partially obscure one hazel eye. It was Ray's gaze that was sending liquid heat through Fraser, his eyes locked on Fraser's in a bold, challenging stare that was pure sex. 

Fraser could not have looked away if his life had depended upon it. He was once again struck by how assured Ray was in this new aspect of their relationship. When they had first become physically intimate, Ray had seemed not entirely unversed in the whole male-male sexual dynamic. The next morning, at Fraser's half-stuttered question, Ray had ducked his head, than looked back up at him with a wry grin. Ray's eyes had been wide and some secret dark amusement seemed to come to life within them. Then Ray's eyes had narrowed and his body tensed. 

Then with an indrawn breath, Ray had relaxed, seemingly a determined act of will, muscle by muscle. He'd laughed and rubbed his chin before he answered. "As the late, great James Dean put it, Fraser, I never said I spent my whole life with one arm tied behind my back." It was a very Ray sort of answer. Fraser had blinked, but the tense set of Ray's mouth warned him from pursuing further questions. 

Fraser watched his partner slowly stalk across the room with heavy lids. The luxury of a warm bed under a roof held the promise of a slow sensuous buildup, a swelling build of arousal. It was welcome after the rather quick couplings that were all that a tent in the Arctic had afforded them. The killing cold necessarily cut down on the surface area of exposed flesh. 

Only half aware that his tongue was running lightly across lips that were slightly parted, he watched Ray strip without a trace of self-consciousness. Very soon they were skin to skin, chill flesh warming with every caress. Their mouths clashed, tongues fighting for dominance. They fell back on the bed in an awkward tangle of limbs. His thigh crept up to Ray's flank, nudging him onto his side. He raised himself onto his arms, intent on covering his partner's body with his own. Ray seemed to explode into action, flipping him over with a wiry strength and pressing him into the bed. Fraser's breath caught; in previous encounters, Ray had seemed content to allow him to lead, providing subtle direction when Fraser's inexperience hindered them. Now it seemed he had other ideas. Fraser stiffened involuntarily for a moment, then forced himself to relax. Ray had allowed him wanton liberties with his body, a little reciprocity was only fair. He lay back and let his eyes drift shut as Ray became intent upon turning his body into a personal playground. And as he discovered with an astonished widening of his eyes, Ray's fingers and mouth were really quite...extraordinary. An explosive grunt escaped his lips as Ray's fingers demonstrated a degree of dexterity to which in his experience only the GTO's engine had hitherto been privileged. The sensations overwhelmed him for long moments; when he came back to himself, he was on his stomach, idly humping the coarse coverlet of the bed beneath him. Ray's tongue traced a wet path down his back to his coccyx, where he made a faint interrogative sound without lifting his lips from Fraser's skin. The wordless affirmative that slipped from Fraser's lips was rather more needy than he had expected, but Ray's tongue opening him up drove all further thought from him. With each deep, wet thrust, he felt himself melting more. Ray's mouth finally left him, and he moaned. 

Ray draped his lean form over Fraser's side, long fingers drifting down between his buttocks. The first tentative probe of those fingers into his anus sent his eyebrows crawling up to his hairline. A memory, instantly suppressed, briefly dampened his arousal. _She_ had done that, too...no, he was here, now, with Ray. The past was done, and that was that. 

The finger probed deeper. The shiver that ran through him was unexpected, as was the intense bolt of sensation that was suddenly triggered. The sound that escaped him was embarrassingly close to a whimper; he found himself biting back further such vocalizations and blinked. That instinctive suppression troubled him a bit. Ray had been violently aroused when Fraser had done this to him and Fraser had enjoyed hearing that evidence of his arousal, had been reassured, in fact, by that response; he wasn't sure why his own intense response should distress him. 

Fraser found himself roughly panting in rhythmic counterpoint to Ray's fingers. A gasp was torn from him when those fingers finally pulled out from him. Long moments passed, and he heard the muffled sounds of Ray tearing open the foil packet. He held his breath as something rather larger and hotter than fingers slid between his buttocks. He found himself tensing up involuntarily, and let out a long breath, consciously willing his muscles to relax. A rough, ragged sound escaped Fraser's lips, and Ray paused. 

He felt soft lips and warm breath against his ear as Ray whispered, "Okay?" 

He breathed silently for long moments, biting his lip slightly. Wet warmth penetrated his ear as Ray traced the whorls with a dexterous tongue. Finally he nodded wordlessly, reaching back to caress Ray's lean thigh in tactile assent. 

Ray's penis had barely penetrated his body, but he winced at the stretch and he could feel his muscles trying to spasm. Ray stopped, and Fraser reached back to hold him there, not wanting Ray to pull away. He breathed out slowly, intensely aware of Ray, around him, _in_ him. "Okay," he muttered, and felt Ray's lips brush his shoulder blade. With an odd corkscrew twist of his hips that elicited in Fraser the most startling sensations yet, Ray managed several more centimeters of progress. 

Ray shifted behind him, leaning forward so that his mouth had access to Fraser's nape, then traced the edge of his hairline with a tongue tip. Fraser let out a sigh and felt Ray push forward again, the feeling deeper and more intense than Fraser could ever have imagined. 

"So tight," muttered Ray and licked at the nape of his neck once more. Fraser felt teeth on the back of his neck, felt the growl Ray let out more than heard it. Ray's teeth on his neck triggered an incredibly visceral rush that left him panting. His body responded, opening up, opening himself; he felt a delightful mindlessness fill him, a complete relaxation of control, a desire to be filled, completed. 

Somehow, following close on the heels of his near-complete surrender, that vivid physical memory was triggered again, the last time he'd surrendered control, had so completely unleashed the sensuous voluptuary part of himself. The last time his emotional equilibrium, hard won and precariously held, had been rocked quite so violently. As that memory surfaced fully, a dark violence welled up in Fraser. His body rebelled against the intrusion, muscles clamping down violently. Unsought and unexpected, outrage welled up in him. There was an illogical fury at his own submission, a claustrophobic, almost hysterical feeling of being pinned, used, anger that someone could, once again, rock him so violently. The vivid image of a fine-boned face surrounded by wild dark curls seemed to burn behind his eyes, and he felt the sudden irrational urge to strike out, to stop this before the inevitable hurt could follow. 

Ray must have sensed the change somehow; he froze, and then pulled back a little. Off, off, get off me, Fraser thought frantically, then gasped as Ray pulled away from the clutch of his body. 

"'S'okay, buddy, I'm off, sorry, God, I'm sorry." Ray's voice sounded stretched thin, and Fraser was horrified to realize that he'd been speaking aloud. 

Fraser hid his face in his hands, absolutely mortified. His stomach twisted as he realized that a remaining flush of arousal had survived even within this awful despair. Would he ever be free of _her_? Her twisted malice and hatred had tainted all of him, tainted even this erotic freedom he'd had with Ray. He wondered despairingly if this had not been her intention when she had driven him to the wildest zenith, beyond thought, nearly to his breaking point, again and again. 

And how could he face Ray, who had found joy and connection in receiving this intimacy that he apparently found intolerable? 

"Stupid, stupid, stupid, Kowalski." Fraser lifted his head in concern as Ray's self-denigrating refrain penetrated his misery. Ray was pounding on his forehead in rhythmic time to his words. 

Fraser caught Ray's wrists before they descended once again. "Stop, Ray. This is my fault. Completely my fault." 

"Too fast, Frase. I pushed you too fast. I'm sorry, Fraser. That's a pretty huge step, letting someone...you know..." Ray trailed off uncertainly. 

He looked over at his partner. Ray looked miserable, forehead crinkled. His throat closed almost painfully. He had made Ray look like that, so much the opposite of what he had wanted to inspire. 

"It wasn't that, Ray. You were perfect." His finger on Ray's lips stopped what Ray was about to say. "I loved it, Ray. I was there with you. But then I got...lost. Skeletons in the closet, so to speak." 

His lips crushed against Ray's in a desperate kiss. He broke off the kiss with a ragged gasp. "Please, can we talk about this later?" He sounded brittle, tension fracturing the timbre of his voice. 

"But..." 

"Please, Ray. Please. I still want you, if that's all right. I would very much like to fellate you, if you wouldn't mind." This much at least he knew, and knew he could do quite well. He doubted he could truly make this up to Ray, but he could offer up this smaller gift at least. 

Ray jerked. "Fraser, Christ!" 

He looked over. Ray was bright red. He blinked at this turn of affairs. 

"What was the phrase you used before, 'blow you off'? May I blow you off, Ray?" 

"It's 'suck me off,' Frase," Ray replied automatically, then jerked again as the impact of Fraser's question hit. He dropped his forehead against Fraser's and took in a shuddery breath. "Am I a sick bastard or what," he muttered. Then louder, "Say that again, Fraser." 

"May I suck you off, Ray?" 

Ray's breathing quickened again even as he hesitated, obviously torn. Finally, he seemed to reach a decision as the tense lines of his face relaxed. "Oh, yeah, Frase." 

He pushed Ray back on the bed. Ray had at some point stripped the condom off, and he could see the darkening red of his penis as it stiffened. He leaned over, mouthed the sensitive skin over Ray's hipbone. He used his teeth, fingers kneading into the muscles of Ray's sides. Ray arched under him, gasping, his sounds becoming strangled. He reached out, circling a hand gently around the shaft just behind the glans. Ray gasped and he gave a convulsive heave, thrusting his hips into Fraser's hands. 

He leaned over again, and suddenly sucked Ray's penis into his mouth, using his weight to hold Ray's hips down through another of those convulsive thrusts. 

"God, Fraser." The words came out high-pitched and broken. Ray was breathless, gasping, nearly wheezing with arousal. 

He pulled off, letting the head of Ray's penis slip out of his mouth, and gazed down the length of his partner's body with an oddly dark satisfaction. Ray's lean torso stretched above him, the slight concavity of his stomach and the arc-like spread of his ribcage rising and falling with his breathing. 

"Wha'? Frase, c'mon." Ray's hands fumbled toward Fraser's head, blindly seeking a return of that connection. 

Obediently, he lowered his head once more, and relaxed his esophagus, swallowing Ray down, almost roughly, wrapping his hand firmly about the base of Ray's penis. The first time he'd done this, he'd nearly choked, but it seemed that in this, much as in other parts of his life, he was a quick study. The muscular control came easily now, somehow comforting. 

A quivering shudder and low, panting moans were Ray's response. He sucked harder, then pulled back with a light scrape of teeth, guessing how Ray would feel about the sharp thrill of that faint hint of danger. 

Ray tensed and then let out a high sob, raggedly cut off. He moved one hand down to idly caress Ray's thigh, where he could feel the quadriceps fluttering erratically. Somehow this response triggered a hot rush of renewed arousal within him; he felt himself hardening, and breathed noisily through his noise. His hand wandered back up, behind Ray's penis. As he took Ray down deep again, he cupped the heavy warmth that he found there, gently rolling Ray's testicles within the scrotal sacs. Ray shivered and gasped, "Frase, Frase," over and over, a steady repetition that turned the epithet into nonsense sounds, an erotic refrain with no meaning other than the heated venting of Ray's arousal. He gave a final firm pull on them, followed by a final up and down of his mouth on Ray, sucking with what was likely almost painful force. A final guttural "Fraser" was his only warning, and then Ray's back arched impossibly and he came with a stunning intensity. Fraser sucked him down, eagerly, greedily. The fanciful thought came to him, of pulling Ray's essence, Ray's being, inside himself, where they would never be parted. The possessive darkness of that thought chilled him, but he gentled his mouth, and rode out Ray's final convulsions. 

He pulled his mouth from Ray's softened penis with a wet sound, and finally let his hand drift down to encircle his own penis. Quickly and efficiently he brought himself to his own completion. He tucked himself in next to his partner, letting his tongue run idly across Ray's temple. 

Ray was utterly spent, limp within his arms. He roused enough to let out a slurred, "Fraser," and caught Fraser's mouth in a gentle kiss. He flopped an unsteady arm between them and pressed a palm against Fraser's groin. 

"Damn. Was goin' to take care of that, Frase," he said muzzily. 

"Quite all right, Ray." 

"Mmmm," was the sleepy reply. 

Ray swiftly descended into sleep, but Fraser's slumber proved more elusive. He lay there, palm spread over Ray's chest, feeling the reassuring rhythm of his heartbeat. It was a long time before sleep finally claimed him. 

He woke the next morning to Ray's lips at his temple, nuzzling down to his ear, where teeth caught his earlobe in an almost painful grasp. Fraser moaned. 

"Frase." Ray's voice was a whisper. 

"Yes, Ray?" 

"Time to talk, buddy. Tell me what's wrong." 

He sighed. His partner's tenacity was part of what he loved about him; he shouldn't be surprised that it might intrude even when he'd prefer otherwise. 

"It's nothing, Ray," he lied with a sinking heart. 

Ray's strong fingers closed on his chin, forcing him to look directly at Ray. 

"I thought you never lied," Ray said gently, although his fingers were clenching rather tightly into Fraser's jaw. 

Fraser pulled away from Ray with a jerk of his head, rolled to the very edge of the bed, and shot his partner a wary look. 

"Fuck, Fraser, what is _with_ you?" Ray's voice rose to nearly a shout, and his eyes were narrowed dangerously. 

Fraser paused as words, normally his most facile tools, deserted him. He dropped his eyes from Ray's searching, worried gaze. Ray leaned over, moving in close once more, pressing, warm and muscular, in to Fraser's side. Fraser couldn't stifle the faintest flinch. 

Ray rolled away from him quickly and sat up, one foot up on the bed and one on the floor. He gazed closely at Fraser for a moment, then his mouth dropped open, his eyes widening. "Jesus...Frase. You're...fucking _afraid_ of me. What the hell is up with that?" 

"Not afraid of you, exactly." 

"Afraid, Fraser," Ray stated definitively. "You are afraid. Christ, Fraser." He shook his head in bewilderment, his forehead crinkling, drooping suddenly, his face sagging. He looked tired and lost as he held his hands out, palms up, to Fraser. 

"I thought, we, you know. Had our thing going." He shifted his weight and gestured at the space and the bed between them. "This thing," he said softly. 

Fraser shifted uncomfortably and bit his lip. He couldn't meet Ray's eyes. 

"We still have our thing." Ray's voice lifted at the end uncertainly. "Don't we?" 

The naked vulnerability in Ray's voice forced Fraser to look up. He swallowed. "Yes, of course," he said firmly. He reached out deliberately and took Ray's hand in his own. Ray didn't resist, but he also didn't respond to Fraser's squeeze. 

Fraser looked down at their joined hands for long moments. When he looked up, he saw that Ray was looking at him warily, eyes too perceptive for Fraser's comfort. "So what is it, then?" Ray looked down then at their joined hands, lips twisting. "There's something wrong, Frase. What's wrong?" 

Fraser held his breath, not knowing until he opened his mouth what he would say. 

"I thought I knew you. And myself. I thought I knew us. But that was before..." He trailed off, frustrated as words deserted him for the second time in less than five minutes. 

"Before? Before what?" Ray prodded. "What are you talking about? First time we met, you knew me better than I knew myself. You know me better than anyone." 

"You've changed, you can't deny that, Ray. We've changed." 

There was a long silence, and then Ray made an expansive gesture that encompassed the entire room. 

"This land changes you, Frase. You told me that yourself. It shapes and pares away all the superficial crap. But you know me, Fraser. You always will." 

He looked at Ray and slowly shook his head uncertainly. 

Ray pulled him close, so that his face was mere inches from Ray's. 

"I'm not Victoria, Fraser." He held Fraser tightly through the violent shudder that followed the statement. 

"You can trust me. You can trust yourself. You're freaking out right now. Sometimes I forget you haven't..." Ray trailed off and cocked his head to one side, not taking his eyes off his partner. Fraser steeled his face to reveal no emotion. 

The pressure of Ray's hands atop his should have been a distraction but instead were a soothing background. Ray's voice was soft, intimate, demanding Fraser's attention. "It's damn scary. You got a piece of yourself walking around in someone else. And you can get as close as you can possibly be, inside 'em, even, for a while." 

A faint blush spread over Ray's face at these words, but he continued. His eyes seemed very large and clear, focused on Fraser's face, intent on getting his point across. "But you still don't know...you can never know...what they're going to do with that piece of you." 

Fraser looked down at the faded brown coverlet, blinking rapidly. He took a breath. "I'm horribly unfair to you, I do realize that." 

"What, Frase? Whattaya mean by that?" 

"You're unfamiliar with this land. You gave up...everything...for me, to come up here. I've brought you out here where you have to depend on me to survive." 

"I keep telling you, buddy, I'm out here, because I wanna be." 

He shook his head impatiently at the interruption, trying to verbalize his inchoate fears. 

"I love you, Ray. You know that, I think." 

Ray gave a one-shouldered shrug, gazing at him closely. "Yeah, I kinda got that. Same here, partner." 

"I've loved you for a long time, in fact. But I wonder, Ray. Why did I wait until here and now? To initiate the sexual side of our relationship, I mean." 

Ray cocked his head thoughtfully. "Snow makes you horny? No more covering Vecchio's ass? The fact nobody's around to give a shit if two guys are getting it on? I dunno, Frase. It felt right to me too, you know." 

Fraser looked down at his feet. "Control, Ray. I'm a little obsessed by control, I must admit." 

Ray sighed patiently. "Spit it out, Fraser. You're losing me." 

Fraser spoke in a hurried jumble of words. "Am I so...damaged... that I could allow myself to have physical intimacy with you only if the power dynamic were to my advantage?" 

Ray blinked and was silent for long moments, apparently trying to translate the statement from Fraserspeak to English. Fraser opened his mouth again, but Ray cut him off. 

"Damaged--you mean by Victoria?" 

Fraser shuddered once again at that. Ray was looking at him with narrowed eyes. 

"Just what the hell did she do to you, Fraser? I mean, I read the report, but it was kinda sketchy on the details, know what I mean? I know you caught a bullet. Vecchio--shot you, aiming for her. Must've been bad; I've seen that scar." Ray paled at the thought, even, Fraser thought, shivered. 

"It was...bad. I almost...left with her, betrayed my best friend. The Vecchios would have lost their house; he risked that for my bail. I would have been a fugitive, accessory to murder, better off dead." He nearly spat the last words. 

He pressed his lips together, forcing himself to tell the full awful tale. 

"There are places in my head. Such dark places that I'm afraid to look, Ray. She...found all those places. She had me, _owned_ me, somehow, for a while at least. Ray asked me once, afterwards, when he was recovering from taking a bullet for me, how could 'some chick' mess with my head so much. He certainly deserved an answer, but I had none; I still don't, except that some piece of myself knew her darkness and welcomed it. We slept together--no, we *fucked,*" he used the word deliberately, enunciating the fricative in a clear, cold voice. He saw Ray's surprised flinch out of the corner of his eye. He looked at his partner and forced himself to meet Ray's clear, troubled gaze. 

"Sex with her was heat and darkness, blood, aggression, power and pain. She pushed me beyond my control, beyond reason or sanity. And some part of me _welcomed_ it, felt I deserved it." 

He looked down and sighed. His voice sounded shaky. "Dig deep down enough, and you'll find I'm very illogical. She called to me and I answered. I've been half-afraid to speak her name since then, you know. As if it still has some power over me." 

He looked down at his clenched hands. "Half in love with her easeful death," he thought, but realized he must have said it aloud, because Ray responded. 

"What was that? Fraser, damn it, quote that maudlin Keats shit again and I swear, I'm socking you one." 

He jerked his head up in surprise and blinked. Ray looked furious, a flush climbing high on his cheekbones. He opened his mouth, but Ray cut him off with an angry jerk of his head. 

"So 'cause you let your dick do the thinking for you once you think you're forever tainted or something?" Ray's voice was flat and utterly unsympathetic. 

"Well, you know, this whole darker than thou schtick has really gotta stop, Frase. We all got darkness in us." Ray was looking down, face tightly shuttered. 

"You think I wasn't into some serious dark shit for a long time there? To wanna become another person, it's gotta be pretty bad, you know? Stalking Stella was the least of it. Andreas Volpe, remember Volpe, Fraser? My 'informant,' only he wasn't on the informant list, and you know why? 'Cause we were fucking, that's why, and if you think Victoria found your darkness, you've never been on your knees sucking off a homicidal drug kingpin. That's finding your darkness." The humor in Ray's voice was bleak, his tone self-deprecating. 

Fraser looked down, rocked to his core. He had always found Ray's reaction to Volpe's murder a bit off, but had never suspected _this_. 

He took a deep breath and asked quietly, "So how did you find your way out?" Then a sudden thought came to him and his breath caught. "Or do you still feel lost in darkness?" 

Ray grasped his chin in a grip that was almost painful and forced his head up to meet that changeable hazel gaze. 

"Fraser, shit. You gotta know by now. It was you, for God's sake. You, Benton Fraser, you showed me the way out. Now you just gotta let me do that for you. Can you do that?" 

Fraser thought he stifled the instinctive shake of his head, but Ray must have seen some sign of disagreement. His face twisted in frustration. 

"Then maybe this thing's over already." Ray sounded tired, defeated. 

"No!" he said. "I--we--can do this." 

Ray rose from the bed, not looking at him. He started pulling on his clothing and sighed. "Come on, Frase. We gotta check on Blood." 

Fraser opened his mouth again, but words had deserted him. He looked down. "Yes, Ray," he said meekly and started to get dressed himself. 

* * *

A week later, they were back on the sled, going slowly in deference to Blood's newly healed wound. Or rather Fraser was on the sled. Ray was on skis, somehow having found an effortless grace and stamina enough to keep up with the sled. Fraser told himself it was merely that Ray was getting fitter and fitter because of their adventure. He watched Ray playfully interact with Dief and Blood, weaving patterns in the snow, his wordless cries mingling with the vocalizations of the wolves. The wolves were acting like puppies, tumbling over each other and play-biting at Ray's heels. He watched as Dief barreled into the Ray's knees hard enough to send him tumbling. He stopped the dogs and set the snow hook, arching his back in a futile attempt to loosen the tightened muscles of his shoulders. Dief was licking Ray's face, while Ray tried to push him off, laughing. Fraser smiled, admiring the color in Ray's cheeks and the broad grin splitting his face. He looked completely at home, no longer anxiously hanging close to Fraser's side as he had at the beginning of their adventure. He absently listened to one of the wheel dog whine and yelp, apparently wanting to get in on the fun. 

Things had been strained since their discussion of Volpe and Victoria. 

When they were buying supplies, Ray had looked down at the dehydrated soup packet he held and asked, "We still, you know, partners?" 

"If you'll have me, always, Ray." His heart had unclenched a tiny bit its painful tightness, but he'd eyed Ray a little warily. 

"Okay." Ray had nodded, still looking down, face neutral. "Good." 

They'd avoided discussing it since then. Now they were diffident with each other. At night, they lay next to each other, sharing only warmth and cautious kisses. Hands roamed over flesh tentatively, and Fraser wondered if they'd lost forever the delicious freedom he'd reveled in. 

Motion caught his vision. Ray was unsteadily trying to regain his feet. He wondered if he should go over and help, but felt oddly lethargic. He frowned and stifled a cough. The scratchy throat he'd noticed back in town seemed to be worsening slightly. 

He shrugged and stirred himself enough finally to go over and help Ray back onto his feet. When he pulled on Ray's hand, he had to stifle a grimace of pain. His muscles were very achy. He must have overestimated his own physical fitness; his body was protesting the return to physical exertion. 

Over the next few days, at odd moments he caught Ray watching him with uncertain eyes. His own fitness did not seem to be improving, he finally admitted to himself. He might slow the entire team down; he didn't know if he could maintain the pace they'd set. 

They were setting up camp, and he knew he should help Ray but he wasn't. Instead, he somehow found himself standing almost out of earshot of camp, staring out at the vast expanse around them. He eyed the skyline, where land met sky. He frowned suddenly; it was not the sharply delineated break that he suddenly knew would have been comforting in some odd way. It was white on white, an unrelieved starkness that blurred the edges of everything. One object merged into the next, confounding any division between self and non-self, between _this_ and _that_. Somehow this landscape, this vista that should be completely familiar, seemed utterly and suddenly foreign. With this alarming realization came a wash of emotion, a welling confusion of sadness and an odd loneliness. He had never experienced _perlerorneq_ , the winter depression, but now wondered if this feeling were similar. 

"Fraser." He started and realized that Ray was very close to him and had said his name several times already. He turned to look at the concerned face of his partner. "Fraser, what's wrong? Jeez, are you _crying_?" 

He blinked and started to shake his head, but realized that his face was wet. Stunned, he reached up and wiped at his eyes. 

"I--I really don't know what's come over me," he said, but the last few words came out more as a croak than intelligible words. 

Ray touched his face with hands that felt icy, and he realized that Ray had taken his gloves off. He nearly pulled away but froze at Ray's next words. 

"Fraser, you're burning up. You're sick. Shit, I _knew_ something was up with you." 

"I don't get sick," he protested. "I never get sick." His voice sounded odd, as if it were coming from a great distance. He shook his head, trying to shake out the cobwebs, but the motion only made him dizzy. 

"Whoa, there, Benton buddy." Ray's arms were suddenly around his waist, and he knew that without the support his knees would have failed him. 

"Not sick," he muttered stubbornly. 

"Let's get you back to camp," Ray said quietly. 

The sled ride that followed was a nightmare. Fraser initially balked at being bundled into a sleeping bag on the sled, but a wave of exhaustion changed his mind. He settled into the nest Ray created without quibbling after that. He closed his eyes and pulled the edge of the sleeping bag up to his chin. His head felt oddly heavy and light at the same time and his eyes burned. 

He lost time then, because when he opened his eyes next, the sled was turned around and they were headed back to the settlement, dogs at full speed. The wind cut through the nylon of the sleeping bag and he shivered. His lungs felt wet and full. His throat was on fire, and when he coughed, it felt like knives. 

He thought he dreamed then, because he could hear his father's voice. He couldn't quite make out what he was saying, though, and the thought of missing even this pale hallucination of his father's presence saddened him immeasurably. "Dad," he thought he said, but all that came out was a moan. 

"Fraser." He started and realized they were no longer moving. It was only thanks to Ray's wiry strength that he got up from the sled. 

Ray was saying something and he blinked, trying to clear his head to understand. 

"I got you, Frase. Got your back, buddy. You'll be okay. Going back to that doctor, don't worry." Ray's voice was hoarse and he wondered how long Ray had been repeating those words. 

Then he was inside the tent and sandwiched between the warmth of two wolves. "Dief," he tried to say, but nothing but a croak came out. Dief turned towards him and whuffed softly in his face. He drifted off then. 

Back on the sled again, alternating between freezing and burning, his joints throbbing with every jolt of the sled. His eyes cracked open with some difficulty; his lashes seemed gummed together and he could only open them half-way. The light seemed strange and soft, limning everything with odd haloes. The world was as utterly silent as a dream; he couldn't hear the wind or the crunch of snow under the sled. Dief and two wolves kept pace with the sled, loping effortlessly. One was Blood, but the other was a male unknown to him, pale, lean and rangy. He blinked slowly, vaguely wondering at the sudden increase in their number. Then it stopped, as if aware of his gaze, and looked at him intently with knowing, wary eyes, and he felt a flash of panic when he saw a familiar hazel gaze. 

"No!" he screamed and found himself sitting bolt upright in his sleeping bag. Ray stirred, muttering in his sleep, but didn't fully awaken. Fraser breathed heavily, wheezing with every gasp. He reached out and lightly touched Ray's shoulder, fingertips cautiously skating over the bump of the clavicle. He glanced at the darkened smudges under Ray's eyes and pulled his hand away. Gradually, his breathing slowed, and his weakened muscles started trembling. He lay back down again and closed his eyes. 

* * *

*Eyes. Yellow eyes. Eyes and a sort of infinite sadness, a longing for something he cannot discern. He looks harder, searching for a focus for all that terrible longing. He sees only three wolves, loping easily across snow. He runs after them, desperately trying to catch up, but the snow is too deep, his legs too weak.* 

*"Wait." He tries to scream, but it comes out as a whisper. His knees fold, and the harsh biting cold numbs his hands as he clenches them in the snow. He looks up again and sees that the wolves have stopped in their tracks, are gazing back at him with a detached sort of interest. They stand shoulder to shoulder, a united front. They belong to each other; they are a pack, obviously, although seemingly few in number, and his stomach twists oddly at the thought.* 

*The numbness creeps up his limbs; he can't feel his feet or hands now, and his breath feels like razors. The wolves watch him; one has his head cocked and there's a patient sort of waiting air to him. He seems less detached than the other wolves and takes a hesitant step towards Fraser, but a low noise from one of the other wolves stays him.* 

*His arms are numb to the shoulders and he falls onto his back. He's staring up at the pitiless sky, darkness rimming his vision, and some part of him welcomes the knowledge that this is what death feels like. He just has to wait for it.* 

_His eyes are dry and he blinks, slowly, a drowsy content stealing upon him. His eyes drift shut._

*The awful, mournful wail of a wolf jerks him out of his drowsy state. Such sadness...for him? Why? He is not of their pack, why should they mourn his passing?* 

*He forces his head up. They are closer to him now, barely at arm's length, he can smell their wild sort of musk. He blinks, there's something trying to surface in his head, some awareness. If he can just let it come to him.* 

*Choice. He has choice here, he realizes, a little stunned. Do nothing, and let the warm darkness sweep over him--or struggle, work against the pain, and ask. Ask.* 

*"Help me, please," he mumbles through numb lips. "I need help. I need you."* 

*There's warmth, then, and awakening pain, the agony of thawing flesh buffered by the sense of belonging. Give himself up, give himself over, let himself be reshaped into what he needs to become. Golden light, and the taste of copper in his mouth, and he knows this, he's been here before, but it's different now. He's afraid, but the fear seems lighter, the burden shared somehow.* 

_He belongs now, he's given himself over to this now and will never be the same._

Fraser woke, skin tingling pleasantly. He stretched luxuriously, reveling in a body that didn't ache. He felt wonderful, warm and contented as a cat in a pool of sunlight. 

He looked over at Ray, lying close beside him and smiled. Ray's eyes were open. As he looked over, they widened, and then his arms were full of Ray, his mouth full of Ray, and they were laughing. 

Ray pulled back, breathless, and met Fraser's eyes with a penetrating stare, clear hazel eyes that seemed to see right into Fraser's core. He met that gaze fearlessly, and nodded slightly. Then he moved back into his partner's side, and Ray was over him, on and around him at the same time. He was on fire, Ray's mouth on his shoulder, teeth nipping his earlobe, tongue penetrating his ear in a lazy, rhythmic thrust that echoed the push of his hips. 

Sounds broke from his lips, primal and bestial, but he let them out, luxuriated in the release. Ray's knowing, callused hand was on his penis then, and a growl ripped from his throat. Ray's mouth on him, Ray's hand on him, stroking with that little harsh twist at the end just so, that made it perfect, perfect, so perfect it almost hurt. He was moaning almost nonstop, with a scattered, "Ray, oh, Ray," for some variety. 

Final long stroke of that perfect hand on his penis, and he felt his back arch, and his mouth fell open, and then he was coming, Ray's hand softening on him through the spasms. "Yeah, oh, yeah, perfect cock." Ray's voice was a roughened whisper and he smiled. 

Bare moments for recovery, and then Ray was on him again, warm, whipcord strength, and golden skin. Intent hardness against his hip, and whispered, broken, "Can I?" He nodded, eyes shut, smiling as Ray's instinctual grace slipped for a moment, all fumbling hands and gasping breaths for long seconds. Finger, then fingers, and he remembered this, but now it was so much better. "Ah," he moaned at the slight stretch, but the burn was delicious, too, and he thrust back without thought, wanting more. 

Ray's gasp descended into a purr, and all his hair rose at the soft touch of Ray's breath on the back of his neck. "Easy, easy," Ray breathed, but he wanted hard, hard, and pushed back again. He turned his head and growled again. 

"Now, Ray!" And he felt Ray nod and the quick wetness of his mouth on the soft skin behind his ear, and then the push of Ray's penis. His breath came in pants, and he was nodding. "Yes, Ray, yes." 

He pushed back as Ray thrust, and the sensation was pain, but more than pain, exquisite burn and stretch, and that was Ray in him, to the hilt. Wild, pure emotion, and his lips drew back in a feral snarl. But he was here with Ray, his pack, and that was enough to allow him to just let go. Writhing, he flexed around the heavy penetration that was Ray, and then he was reaching back with grasping hands, bruising force but Ray could take it, pulling, get closer, and closer yet. His head was tossing wildly, and suddenly the back of his skull cracked audibly against Ray's nose. A startled squawk from Ray and they missed a beat, losing their rhythm for long moments. But the heat was rising inexorably, and Ray was laughing in his ear. "Come on, come on." 

A high keening, and he couldn't tell if Ray was making it or him, but it didn't matter in the end, one or the other, it was the same. Their breathing was ragged gasping, a harmony of expanding lungs and racing hearts. 

"God, Frase, oh god, god, _fuck_ ," Ray's blasphemous exhalations in his ear, and then Ray bit down hard on his neck. Ray was jerking, coming hard, and good Lord, he could feel it, feel himself filled and transformed, burned by the heat they created. Ray was softening in him, but he clenched down to hold Ray within for a little longer. Then Ray's hand was on him again, and one hard stroke, Ray's strong hand demanding and coaxing at the same time, and that was enough. He was lost, specks of light dancing before his eyes, back arching, clamping down still harder on Ray inside him. The cry ripped from his throat was guttural and loud and utterly replete. 

"Jeez..." Ray let out a startled gasp and a little flinch, but those strong arms wound tight about him, holding him tight, holding him together. He would have shattered otherwise, but Ray held him together with the press and strength of his own body. 

Ray's penis slipped out of him, and he just lay there and breathed, mind in whiteout, muscles unstrung. He must have slept then, because next thing he knew Ray had rolled away from him, and was rooting in a pile of Fraser's discarded clothing, odd rustling movements. 

"Ray?" 

Ray twisted and looked at him, ruefully pinching and dabbing at his bloody nose with one of Fraser's shirts. 

"Ray!" He reached out then, one cautious hand toward Ray's nose. "Did I do that?" 

Ray jerked back hastily. "Love you, Frase, but you got a damn hard head. 'Sokay." He waved off Fraser's concerned look. "It's mostly stopped anyway, see." He pulled the shirt from his nose. "Sorry about your shirt, too. Couldn't find anything better close at hand." 

The shirt fell open, revealing the bright patch of Ray's blood on Fraser's shirt. He stared at it, braced against fear or horror, but felt none of that. He reached out and touched the back of Ray's hand, smoothing a finger across the veins. 

"In some cultures, it's traditional to display a blood stained sheet after the wedding night." He smiled, now oddly shy. 

"Huh," Ray grunted. "Yeah?" He smiled back at Fraser. "Wedding night, huh? I like that." 

Then he tugged at Fraser's hand. "C'mon. Wanna show you something." They jammed their feet into unlaced boots and shuffled out of the tent. Outside the snow sparkled under a heavy full moon, hovering low on the horizon. Ray spread his arms and let his head drop back, seeming to embrace the cold air around him. 

Far off he could see movement, Blood and Dief materializing suddenly, almost gliding over the snow with breathtaking grace. They stopped nearby, the moonlight gilding them in blues and silvers. As one voice, they howled, raising the mournful cry to the moon. Ray's arms wrapped around him, and they lifted their heads, joining their voices to the pack's song. 

Ray started laughing then, and Fraser couldn't help joining him, and the wolf cry no longer sounded sad. 

* * *

End Anabasis by Purna:

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